


Tea

by nobodytospeakof



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2457710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodytospeakof/pseuds/nobodytospeakof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which tea is perhaps fraught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea

“Cuppa?” John asked.

Sherlock did not respond.

John took a breath through his nose and released it.  He filled the kettle from the tap and considered the quantity of water, added a bit in case Sherlock suddenly decided he wanted some after all, and set it to boil.  He stretched to retrieve his mug, leaving Sherlock’s in place, and snagged the tea canister.  John dropped a tea bag – the better loose tea was for a shared pot and that was not on the cards today --  into his mug.  He contemplated the TARDIS design. It would disappear when the hot water warmed the ceramic and John could never decide whether that was meant to be good or bad, honestly.  Had they thought it through?

The kettle clicked off and startled him – Honestly, _startled_ a soldier, a doctor, a genius detective’s amanuensis. Jesus wept. – and John poured the water over the bag, waited, added milk, binned the bag and turned back again finally into his flatmate’s space.

“Anything on?”

Sherlock huffed without answering.  And John nodded once, firmly, and addressed his tea. For a few moments, there was only quiet.

 “Well, I’m off.” John spoke brightly. He put his cup in the sink, walked to the door, pushed his feet into his shoes, and shrugged on his coat.   He turned toward Sherlock again for a moment, but then opened the door and left the flat without speaking.

As his steps sounded down the stairs, Sherlock glanced toward his last position in the flat, then flicked his eyes up toward the ceiling, out toward the windows, and finally closed. His head bent, his shoulders drooped, his hand dropped from the microscope to lie on the counter.


End file.
